Welcome Home, Mother and Father Dear
by Nyt Yanse
Summary: Future AU, Michael and Lise feel a thrill of fear when they see their beloved offspring all neat and tidy.


Spoilers; None really, it's a little AU.

Warning; Cringing kids and plentiful property damage.

Characters; Primarily Michael Garibaldi and Lise Hampton, with their four OC kids and several other canon characters in the background.

Authors Note: Sorry it's been a while, had a lot of trouble at work, some trouble at home, plus haven't had any reviews or comments on my non fanfiction poem yet, and I put that up over a year ago, so feeling a little dejected and sad...:( But this little bunny went to market, got some friends and camped out until I wrote it, so here you go!

Happy chattering filled the outer porch as the group of friends and allies removed cloaks and coats. An evening of titillating talking and delighted dancing had left them satisfied and tired, ready to accept the hospitality offered by their host, the ever indomitable Michael Garibaldi and his beautiful wife Lise.

The Minbari Warrior at the front of the group continued his argument with the priest turned Ranger on the merits of patience in active battle while their wives rolled their eyes, the priestess gently clung to her husband's arm as they chatted with the EF Colonel and her Ranger husband, followed by the comfortably quiet telepath duo and the lone doctor, unaccompanied for the night. Almost a full house of Babylon 5 heroes.

The calm, unconcerned chatting petered out as they entered the front hallway of Michael and Lise's home, which was unbelievably clean and neat. Almost shiny with spotlessness, there was no sign of trouble. Which, bafflingly to the Minbari contingent, thrust fear into the hearts of the owners.

"KIDS!?" Called Michael, dropping his jacket on the stair rail. "Let's hear it!"

With a barely perceptible rumble, very much at odds with their usual stampede, the four Garibaldi offspring sprang down from the upstairs landing, where they had apparently been awaiting the return of their parents. Also unusual for them was the neat, pressed clothing, their best clothing, usually reserved for special occasions and reviled by their wearers, now worn absent of parental demand. Also, the way they stood, backs straight, heads up and eyes forward- almost like troops standing at attention. The other Humans seemed to have some idea of why this was a harbinger of some doom or other, though the Minbari were still waiting patiently for someone to get around to explaining the latest in a long- actually, never ending- series of Human oddities that had complicated their friendships for years.

Silent for the moment, Michael stood at one end of the line, looking very much like a General about to inspect some suspiciously sorry-looking soldiers. First in the line as Michael began to move down it was his oldest son, his first-born, his pride and chip-off-the-old-block joy, Richard Jeffrey Garibaldi. Having inherited his fathers' height and his mothers' dark brown hair, his fathers' blue eyes and his mothers' full lips, his physical skills on the sports field and in the practise room and her social graces, he was quite the looker and the charmer of the ladies, even at the age of 14. Right now, his strong jaw was clamped tightly shut, his face utterly passive and his hands deliberately held loose. Clearly trying to look innocent and inevitably looking anything but.

Next in line was Michael, no, not that one, the OTHER Michael, little Mickey Mouse, as he loathed to be called and thus always was. Michael Jonathan Garibaldi, nowhere near the sportsman his brother was, he more than made up for it with intellect, already spawning talk among his teachers of being moved ahead in school, a possibility Richard vehemently opposed as this would put his 13 year old brother in his classes, no doubt to have the sole intention of destroying his hard earned reputation. Lighter brown hair and a thicker build were clearly the genetic gifts of his father and darker eyes were handed down from his mother, however he had not received one iota of their grace or coordination. At this point in time, he was vibrating with fear.

Standing practically clumped together, the two girls were the last on their fathers' first, intimidatory, fly by. 10 year old Erica, born last but always speaking first, was the mirror image of her 10 month senior sister, Eliza, who preferred to let her do all the talking. Both blue eyed and pale skinned, with small, skinny frames and semi-demonic halos of dark brown corkscrew curls, they were often mistaken for twins, though neither ever had the desire to correct the assumption. Both usually hyperactive little gazelles, generally found bouncing from one wall to the other, right now they were standing still, shoulders pressed against one another, hands firmly clasped. It was the last that betrayed their terror- a comfort tic from infancy that still stubbornly remained.

Looking over at his wife briefly, they had a moments of unspoken, matrimonial communication, quickly followed by an agreement, and Michael swooped in on his prey, like a bald eagle going for a rabbit, his metaphorical paternal talons latching onto their quivering prey- Mickey. Locking onto the reluctant eyes of his younger son, Daddy cranked the stare up to glare, and activated the unseen laser. Resistance was short lived and ineffectual.

The roar of "IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" From the reluctant tattler was rapidly chased into the air by a gruff "HE STARTED IT!" and twin shrills of "WE DIDN'T DO IT!" More of the same assailed everyone's eardrums as the kids started jabbing fingers threateningly and the hapless parents bellowed for silence. It was some moments of verbal chaos before aural peace descended again. Taking a few deep breath, plus a moment to shoot a glare at his so-called friend John, who had insisted their was no reason to fret at leaving the children alone for an evening (they were mature enough to handle themselves for a few hours, after all, surely...)- Michael rounded on his oldest, raising his eyebrows.

Correctly interpreting the gesture, Richard whined, "Why is it I'm always the first to suffer?"

Turning his snark-o-meter up to eleven, Michael responded with, "Because your were the first to be BORN, plus I said so, THAT'S why. It's your birthright to bear the brunt of trouble, now spill."

Taking a very deep breath, causing everyone else to do the same, he did indeed spill, starting with- "Mickey came to me just as I was getting a snack and asked me for help with one of his school projects." Incredulous expressions spawned a protest, "No, not brain help. Brawn. He was supposed to be analysing force... and... motion... and, well, you know him, if he can take it several steps beyond rubber bands, he will..." It was not too hard to understand the groans of horror as the pictures formed. Defensively, he re-continued with, "it was only a SMALL catapult..."

Attempting to alleviate the stress somewhat, Erica chirped, "Well, how could we tell that something with such a funny name would cause so much trouble?"

This did not quite have the calming effect she had hoped for, as it birthed a rapid cry of, "Hey, it wasn't my idea to test the 'cat-in-catapult, land-on-their-feet' theory!"

A surge of sick certainty rumbled through Michael's gut. "Where. Is. Molly?" He asked clearly and carefully.

"At the vets. But don't worry, the pet doctor said the leg will heal... but the vertigo probably won't. The vet bill is in your study."

Temporarily quitting from his disciplinarian position, Michael put his hands over his face and took several deep breaths, struggling to stay sane. Lise took up the banner, knowing that this couldn't be the only problem, or the girls would have had Cheshire cat grins on the faces, instead of masks of barely-covered fright. "What else?" She stated more than asked, in a carefully controlled tenor.

Her oldest sons' insistence that this was the only "BIG, big problem," while holding his hands out did nothing for the indigestion. Making the same gesture before pulling her hand closer together, she retorted, "OK, let's hear about the SMALLER problem then."

Uncertainly wriggling his shoulders, he reluctantly said, "Well, like I said, I was getting something to eat when Mickey asked for my help, and I sort of... forgot about it." The unspoken conclusion to the slightly cryptic statement was made more obvious by Michael sniffing suspiciously. Hoping a faster resolution would shorten the punishment, he said, "I was getting a bacon sandwich, which I did eventually remember about- when the firemen kicked the door down to find the source of the black smoke."

At this point just focusing on not screaming, Lise requested confirmation, "You burned down the kitchen?!"

Hurriedly, the tow headed youth responded, "NO! No, no, not the... not the WHOLE kitchen... just the... stove... and maybe the worktop... fridge might need replacing too..." Shifting himself uncomfortably, he managed to squeak, "I already called the decorators for you!" As if this would appease the Gods of Family somehow.

"And?" Lise asked.

"Estimate's in the study." He sullenly replied.

"And just how did you manage to forget the fat and oil filled pan sitting over an open flame?" She enquired in clipped tones.

Still on the verbal run, his statement "Well, I was helping Mickey with his project... and trying to help the girls with THEIR situation too-" was interrupted by the cries of "TRAITOR!" from the girls, briefly brave in the face of their brother breaking. His fierce rebuttal, "I won't crucify alone for this, I swear to God!" Did not help his parents emotional stability.

"Alright, alright!" Snapped Lise, wishing there was a simpler way to deal with devil kids that didn't involve pharmaceutical intervention. "Ladies... it's your turn."

Going from righteous to meek so fast they broke the sound barrier, the girls hesitation caused a stretch of silence that seemed to whistle in everyone's heads. After several suffocating seconds, Erica finally continued the epic tale of chaos. "Well, with those two nut heads," earning herself a glare, "terrorising the cat, we had to protect our fluffy companions, so we took them upstairs to the attic. We didn't want them to get gerbilapulted." The confused looks warranted the response, "I believe that is the technical term. Anyway, we let them out to play, stretch their little legs, you know, have some FUN. Just a little. But... Libby decided to go all adventurer and fell into one of the cracks in the floor boards. We called Richard to get her out-"

Interrupting in haste, he quickly explained, "I was very very careful, it was a surgical search and recovery operation!" Convincing no-one.

Finishing his claim, Mickey simply muttered, "With a crowbar." Causing Michael and Lise to both snap their heads up, staring at the children with wordless pleading. Deciding that squabbling among themselves would not help- as Lincoln said, a House divided upon itself cannot stand, he amended, "He's already put all the floorboards and wall panels back."

Deciding that this was a good thing- for the sake of her ulcer- Lise turned back to her 'little angels' and nodded for them to continue.

Erica continued to explain, "We eventually found Libby behind the boiler. I think she was scared to come out- this was just after the firemen came and they were still stamping around in the kitchen. Richard couldn't reach her, and I couldn't reach her, and the nice firemen came up and tried but she wouldn't come out, so we went looking for something to coax her out..." It wasn't hard to see why she hesitated at that point, as she angled her body to shield her quieter, older shadow.

Speaking on her own for the first time in this encounter, an experience so rare the family friends paid special attention, Eliza murmured, "I couldn't just leave her there. I'm smaller and skinnier than the others, I almost reached her. Almost..." She shrugged, almost seeming blasé as she concluded, "until I got stuck."

Shaking slightly out of a torrid mix of anger, humour and concern, she said, "Please tell me your brother didn't pull the boiler out to free you."

"No, no, he was very calm about it, we all were... Until the boiler actually switched on and started to heat up." Ducking her head as everyone's focused sharpened on her, her voice deserted her.

Mickey took up the defending banner now, continuing the narrative. "I ran to the kitchen to switch it off, just so we'd have enough time to butter her out or something, but their were a lot of buttons, and I had perfectly legitimate reason to panic!" He righteously proclaimed. Realising no-one was nodding in agreement, he finished his turn in a subdued manner. "I got the right one eventually and it only took us three sticks of butter to get her out," A small glare from his father was small peanuts at this point, "but when I went to switch it on again, it just, sort of, spluttered and... well... died."

Rubbing his eyes, Michael then straightened up, taking up the helm of the familial ship once more. Directing his eyes at Erica, he silently compelled her to bring the tale to a close. "Well, at some point, Libby went into one of the empty pipes the contractor hasn't taken out yet, from when he replaced our old heating system? Luckily, Michael had looked at the blueprints when he did the work and guessed where Libby was likely to get to, and we used the stethoscope Uncle Stephen gave him," Said Uncle didn't know whether to look pleased at his gift being used or chastised by how it was used, "to pinpoint her location... behind the wall in your room."

"In our bedroom!?" Choked Michael, already rosy cheeks turning a darker purple hue, a darker omen for the innocent malefactors.

"Yes." Erica seemed to have decided to sprint to the finish line. "We we able to pop the panels out without denting them or anything and we found her in the third pipe we pulled. The first pipe leaked... a little steam."

"Dare I ask about the second?" Whispered Michael.

Quiet for a moment, she almost spat out, "Water."

"You flooded our bedroom!?" Screeched Lise, at both volume and decibel high enough to make everyone jump and the Minbari rubbed their ears, wincing.

"Only a little bit!" Reasoned Richard. "The plumber managed to stop the leak, suctioned up all the water and even fixed the boiler for you! Very nice guy... His bill's in the study."

"Very nice guy." Snipped Lise testily, her boundaries almost breached by her beloved brood, who'd apparently spent the evening careening from one crisis to another. Deciding to summarize the damage, hoping it wouldn't sound so bad in shorthand, she went on. "So, first you almost kill the cat testing the scientific theory that he can fly, then you nearly burn down the house for a sandwich, after which you tear half of the rest of it apart looking for a gerbil before you turned our bedroom into a swamp." Trying to restore some maternal sweetness to her demeanour, she asked, "is that all?"

The sight of her children nudging each other shiftily did nothing for her disposition. Whispers of "You tell them." "No, you." "I wasn't anywhere near there." slid down the hallway and Michael and Lise straightened up together, side by side, implacable and determined, their united strength dissolving their children's as they shrank in on themselves.

"Oh Hell," sighed Richard, stepping forward to accept his birthright. "Since I'm a dead boy walking anyway... there is a tiny, small... remote possibility we may, possible- small chance- have done some minute level of... unrepair to Dad's study clock."

Seriously upset now, mostly on behalf of her now mute husband, she clarified, "You are referring to his great-great-grandfathers' 300 year old, handmade- custom made- one of a kind, utterly irreplaceable family heirloom?"

"Well, yeah." Richard mumbled anticlimactically.

"Gotoyourrooms." Spluttered Lise, stunned beyond real words at the FUBAR their beloved kids had created for them.

Watching their children flee upstairs, and completely pole-axed by these many admissions and revelations, they were almost deaf to the rationales of their friends, assuring them that their children had meant no harm, had gone in with good intentions and had not caused trouble through so much as innocent mischief, Lise could only blurt, "We were only gone five hours!"

For many of their companions, this was too much, and their sides promptly split.


End file.
